


Playing the Fool

by little_passions



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_passions/pseuds/little_passions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has built a stable career on being informed, whether it be the secret to the trick or the truth behind a mystery, yet after meeting Eames, he finds himself reluctantly charmed into taking a step into the unknown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing the Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Inception Reverse Bang 2014. :D This fic would've never come to be without the [gorgeous art](http://tamat9.livejournal.com/6316.html) that inspired me to write it. Thank you so much to my artist who was so patient with me and gave much so much inspiration for this story. Along with her art, much of this fic was heavily influenced by Christopher Nolan's film The Prestige. 
> 
> Thank you also to my wonderful beta Angie who is full of the best things in the universe and is always so kind and helpful. I apologize for any historical errors and the like, and I hope you all enjoy the fic. ♥

 

 

 

 

**Act One**

“Do you like it?”

Arthur turned his head, and a man was standing behind him. He glanced again briefly at the painting before he nodded. “Yes, it’s quite lovely. I’m afraid I’m not familiar with these kinds of things however–”

“It’s an imitation created by no one of renown, so it’s nothing special. You shouldn’t be bothered over it.” The man smiled and held out his hand. “The name is Eames. I own the shop, and I fancy myself to be somewhat of a painter. I dabble in the arts, but I’m no master at it.”

“Arthur, and I am even less of a master of the arts than you are, I assure you.”

They shook hands, and Eames spoke up. “Are you looking for anything in particular? I noticed you the moment you came into the store. I don’t get many customers, so I was hoping that I could somehow charm you into making a purchase.”

Arthur’s reason for coming into the store quickly came back to mind. “Ah yes, I’m looking for a painting. A dear friend of mine is sick. She’s bedridden and will be for the next few months, so I was hoping to add something bright and cheerful to her room.” His eyes scanned the paintings again and added, “I suppose your wisdom would come to use at a time like this. Would you help me select something from your store?”

“Of course, I’d be glad to.” Eames brightened up considerably. “What does your friend like? Does she have any particular interest in the arts–”

“She’s French, if that helps.”

“So I’ll assume she does have an interest then.”

Arthur laughed. “Yes, I’d say that would be a correct assumption to make.”

Eames gestured for him to follow, so Arthur trailed after him and carefully took note of their surroundings. While some paintings were properly set on display, others were stacked haphazardly, blocking the way as if someone had just rummaged through them moments earlier. Despite the mess however, Eames maneuvered through the aisles easily while Arthur’s main focus was to avoid breaking or knocking into anything.

Eventually Eames came to a halt and pointed at a painting that was hanging on the wall. “I made that myself while I was living in Paris last year. Although I cannot say it’s a perfect work, it holds a dear place in my heart. I won’t ask you if you like it, but do you think it is something you think your friend would enjoy?”

It was a simple painting of a beautiful garden, but what Arthur loved about it was the vibrant colors of the flowers. It reminded him of the garden that Mal loved to tend to and the flowers she had constantly kept around the house before she’d gotten sick.

“If she doesn’t like it, feel free to return it.”

“No, I’m sure she will,” Arthur replied confidently, his eyes still focused on the painting. The door opened in the background, and the sound of new customers coming in disrupted the silence that had been present in the gallery. “How much will it cost me?”

When Eames failed to respond immediately, Arthur glanced at him. The other man’s eyes were now focused on the new customers, and it seems that they were now on the receiving end of all of his attention. “Mr. Eames?” His question brought Eames’ interest back to him, and the man smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”

Arthur pointed at the painting. “How much will this cost me?”

Eames’ eyes briefly darted to something behind Arthur, but before he could turn his head to see what Eames was looking at, Eames replied. “Absolutely nothing.” He added a charming smile to his response, one that only confirmed the idea in Arthur’s mind that Eames was a very likable person.

“You said that you didn’t get many customers,” Arthur commented flatly. As much as he was like every other person that appreciated something freely given, he disliked the idea of taking something from someone who seemed to be running a poorly performing business. “Money’s not an issue for me–”

“I had no doubt about that Arthur,” Eames cut in, an amused look on his face as he turned back briefly to call over someone to package the painting. “From the moment you came in, I was very much aware that you are blessed in life, but I assure you, money is not a primary concern for me. I implore you to take the painting and consider it to be a gift. If your friend is ill, surely she will not be happy knowing that you dug deep into your pockets to give her a present.”

“Is it expensive? I don’t–”

Eames waved Arthur off and began to walk away. “I told you, it’s nothing. A nobody does not charge the same price as a somebody. Must you insist on arguing with someone who is trying to give you a present?”

“I must return then to purchase something else,” Arthur insisted as he walked up to the counter. He was aware that the other people in the store were now observing his interaction with Eames, but it was no matter to him at the moment. “I don’t accept gifts from strangers, and it makes me ill knowing that I am taking something from you in an unfair exchange.”

“An unfair exchange?”

“Yes, an unfair exchange.” Arthur repeated. “I’ve taken up your time, and now you want me to take your painting for free. From what perspective would that interaction seem to be just?” Eames’ assistant handed him the package, and as he accepted it, Arthur continued to speak. “You say that your work is worth nothing because it is you who made it. However, I believe otherwise. As the customer, and perhaps the more rational person in this situation, I should at least be paying you for the perceived value of your work.”

Eames stared at him and shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You are a most difficult customer.”

“Only because you insist on being a poor businessman,” Arthur replied. “I assure you that even painters must eat, and to eat, they need to make a living.”

“Come back another day, then,” Eames said finally as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He tilted his head to the side and studied Arthur for a few seconds before he picked up what he wanted to say. “If you really want to waste your money on my work, stop by and I’ll pick something out for you. Will that settle this?”

Arthur nodded and held out his hand. “It’ll do.”

They shook hands again, and Arthur picked up his painting and began to walk away from Eames. Just as he was about to exit the gallery, the other man called his name.

“I’ll expect you to come back and conduct business with me, Arthur. You better return.”

“I don’t break agreements, Mr. Eames,” Arthur replied steadily as he turned away and continued to make his way out of the gallery. “I assure you, I’ll be back.”

\--

Arthur had never been more appreciative of the fact that Philippa and James had been sent to France in order to live with their maternal grandparents. Mal was not getting any better, and the atmosphere in the house was a far cry from its better days. Everything had come to a standstill, and Cobb was slowly unraveling. Arthur could see the signs of it, but he didn’t know what he could do to make anything better. Cobb had always been devoted to his work and to his wife, but the two aspects were closely intertwined. Mal was more than an assistant; she was his muse and partner.

When the time came and she eventually passed away, inevitably, the structure that served as the foundation to Dominic Cobb’s life would crumble without her.

A wise man would probably back out. After all, Arthur knew a life without the Cobbs. He’d been on his own for a long time before. Yet he took one glance into their bedroom – where Cobb was holding Mal’s hand and whispering to her quietly – and knew he couldn’t abandon them. The others were probably right. He was loyal to a fault.

He got up from his chair, walked over to the room, and stopped by the doorway. “Do you two need anything?” Arthur asked, and Mal looked away from her husband to smile at him weakly.

“Oh Arthur, I didn’t realize you were still here. It’s late. Shouldn’t you be getting home?” she asked softly as she slowly adjusted to sit up straighter.

“I just needed to finish working on the cabinets.” He replied. Cobb was still holding onto Mal’s hand tightly, and all of his focus was directed to her. Arthur smiled at Mal and then noticed the painting that had been placed beside the doorframe. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I do, Arthur. It’s magnificent, and I–” Mal began to cough violently and to gasp for breath whenever she could. Arthur stood rooted to his spot by the doorway as he watched her struggle. She reached out for her husband, but he broke away from her briefly to walk over to the doorway.

Cobb gave him a gentle push backward, and Arthur looked at him. “Please call the doctor, Arthur.” He said flatly before he shut the door.

\--

When Arthur stepped inside, he was surprised to see how organized the place had become. The reckless stacks were now gone, and everything was hung and arranged in an orderly manner. However, there was no one around, so Arthur wandered around and tried to look for anyone. He noticed the door to what he assumed led to a backroom, and just as he was about to walk towards it, he heard approaching footsteps.

“What are you here for, sir?”

“I was looking for Mr. Eames,” Arthur answered. “He told me that he would help me find another painting–”

“I’m here!”

Eames came out from the back door, a bright smile on his face. “My apologies, Arthur, I didn’t hear that someone had come in.” He gestured to the person behind Arthur and waved him off casually as he approached Arthur. “I’ll settle this, Yusuf. You can leave now.” As soon as there was only an arm’s length between them, Eames stopped and laughed. “I did not expect for you to come back.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t expect frequent visits. Least of all from famous magicians.”

Arthur was silent for a few seconds before he replied. “So you know?” he asked casually. To be honest, the fame didn’t quite bother him as much as it did Cobb, but he supposed that the whole situation would be much different for the star of the show. People recognized him on the street on occasion, but it wasn’t anything that he felt was out of the ordinary. When Eames nodded, he shrugged. “Have you been to any of our shows?”

“Not yet,” Eames replied as he began to walk away from Arthur. “However, I’ve made plans to see one in the future. I do hear, however, that it may be difficult for me to get a ticket?” He turned to look at Arthur as he pulled a book from the counter. “Would you be able to help me with that problem?

“Perhaps.” Arthur gave another shrug, and Eames laughed. “It’s all the same to me anyway. You’ll be just another face in the theater.”

“I find that terribly insulting.”

“It shouldn’t be, it’s the truth.” Eames handed the book over to Arthur, who studied the cover. It was slightly worn out, tattered at the edges, and flecks of paint stained its black material. “What’s this?” he asked as he began to flip through the pages. “An inventory list?”

Eames continued to fiddle with things behind the counter, and his voice was slightly muffled as he answered. “I guess you could call it that. I thought perhaps it would interest you. I keep some imitations of famous work. While some people prefer to own original works of art, there are many people who enjoy pretending to own masterpieces.” He came up from behind the counter and flashed Arthur another charming smile. “So which person would you be, Arthur?”

Arthur flipped through the book slowly and took note of the messily scrawled titles that were inked onto each page of the book. “The kind of person who has no art in his room.” He looked up at Eames to find that the other man had been looking at him intently. He shut the book and passed it back. “I am still not any more knowledgeable than I was in the past when it comes to art.”

“Well I suppose I could lend you a bit of what little wisdom I have.” He leaned across the counter, his face resting upon the palm of his hand. His demeanor was calm and utterly relaxed, and Arthur only just noticed that there were flecks of paint on Eames’ face. They stared at each other in silence until Arthur decided to end their moment of personal observation.

“I assure you that it would be appreciated,” Arthur said finally, and when Eames smiled at him again, there was nothing he could do but respond with a small smile of his own.

\--

If he wanted, he could leave. There were many things Arthur could stop doing, but he didn’t. As he made his way to Eames’ gallery, there was nothing preventing him from turning back and heading anywhere else. There were other places he could go. He could try to travel the world.

Yet, instead of all that, he chose to stay. He wanted to stay, and because of that, his mother was probably right. He’d always be a fool like his father.

Eames, for a change, was waiting for Arthur outside of the gallery. Once he noticed Arthur approaching, his usual easy smile graced his face, and he met Arthur halfway. “I thought it better if we took a stroll around town instead of loitering in my gallery as usual.”

Arthur glanced at the gallery, and he noticed the men shuffling around the store. They weren’t familiar. As he turned his attention back to Eames, the other’s expression hadn’t changed at all. “Will your gallery be fine without you in it?”

“It’ll be alright,” Eames said with a laugh. “Nothing of value in there right now, anyway.”

“If you say so,” Arthur replied. “I suppose I should be more worried about the fact that you continuously fail to value your own work. It’s a mystery that you’ve managed to feed yourself all these years. Is it charm that brings you customers that are willing to buy unvalued pieces of art?”

Eames began to walk. “It’s just a little honesty, Arthur. You needn’t be so rude about my business skills. If you wish to join me, all you need to do is quit that little magic show of yours.” Arthur scoffed, but Eames continued. “Besides, is it not charm that brings you here with me today?”

“I’m here because I pity you and your failing gallery.” Arthur stuck his hands into his pockets like a petulant child and kept his eyes on the streets around them instead of the man beside him. “Perhaps you should find some other line of work.”

“I would enjoy being onstage,” Eames mused as they passed by the theater. They stopped to look at the poster in front of it, and Arthur felt uncomfortable at the sight of it. It reminded him all too much of the fact that Dom was becoming less and less of the man he once was.

Eames whistled appreciatively, and Arthur didn’t know what to say. He waited for Eames to speak, fully trusting the other man to end their silences as he usually did. A minute or so had passed, and aside from the noise of children running by, nothing had changed. Arthur glanced at Eames and was surprised to find the other man staring intently at the poster.

“You look like you’re deep in thought.”

“How does one even become an illusionist?” Eames said finally. He looked at Arthur curiously, and if it were any other person who’d asked, Arthur might’ve felt offended. However, Eames had posed the question in a tone that indicated that he just truly wanted to know. Allowing Arthur more time to think, he continued. “Is there a school for it? Or does one simply pick up the tricks of the trade from a magical book?”

“It’s simple,” Arthur said as he looked away from Eames and observed the children playing nearby. “You learn from others.” He glanced at Eames. “It’s not a complicated answer. Cobb studied under a mentor, and I came across Cobb and found that we were of like minds. We built it all from our imagination.”

Eames’ lips twisted into a wry smile. “That sounds awfully romantic, Arthur.” He reached out to gently brush something off of Arthur’s cheek. “I very much adored the way your eyes lit up with passion. If I had more capable hands, I’d surely attempt to immortalize such a look.”

Arthur shot the other an unamused look. Once again Eames was attempting something that Arthur was unsure of how to properly address. “Are your hands good for anything at all?”

“I’ve been told that I’m an excellent lover.”

He was at it again. Arthur shook his head in disbelief at the other’s behavior, and Eames chuckled. He brushed up against Arthur and did so roughly, and the gesture made Arthur’s attention return to him. Eames seemed happy with himself, and so Arthur felt the need to comment. “You’re ridiculous.”

“An elementary insult,” Eames shot back as he began to walk again. His nonchalance irritated Arthur slightly, but nonetheless, he followed the other man again anyway.

They walked in silence for a while with only Eames’ passing observations filling up the lack of conversation. In a way, it was amusing to hear his comments, and it gave Arthur a little bit of a look into the other’s personality beyond the usual guise of charm and teasing. Eames had gotten particularly wrapped up in providing his own commentary on an ongoing argument between two gentlemen when Arthur decided to offer more than a nod or a murmured agreement.

“Are you always watching and studying everyone?” he asked. His question, although direct, seemed to have thrown Eames off-base on the way he went silent. Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You’ve gone quiet.” He glanced briefly at the men Eames had been commenting on and noticed that they’d begun to walk off and carry their argument with them elsewhere. “Is it because your subjects are leaving? You seem awfully invested in them. Perhaps we should follow.”

“I find people interesting,” Eames answered with a smile. “Forgive me if I worried you in any way. I was just thinking of the best way to answer you. It’s not every day that I choose to talk about one of my odd habits. It’s an activity I picked up from my father, I presume.” 

“You enjoy reading people.” Eames nodded in agreement, and so Arthur continued. “I won’t bother to ask you why, but I’d like to know what you think of me, then.” A genuine look of surprised graced Eames’ face, and Arthur enjoyed the expression on the other man’s face. As Eames’ face settled into a more neutral expression, Arthur began to walk in the direction of a girl selling flowers. “Let’s hear it. I’d like to know what you’ve decoded about me. Am I an open book?”

Eames caught up with him easily, his arm brushing against Arthur’s as he sidled up beside him. “Oh hardly Arthur, I find you most interesting - a novel I’ve yet to complete. I’m only a few chapters in, and I’ve discovered that the other chapters are in a different language.”

“French maybe,” Arthur mused as he played along with Eames. He handed some money over to the girl for a bouquet of flowers and glanced back at Eames. “My mother was French.”

The other man smiled but shook his head. “Not French, Arthur, I can understand and speak it. Perhaps something more complicated than that.” Eames paused to think, and as Arthur was being handed his flowers, he added. “I’d say that perhaps your other chapters would be in hieroglyphics.”

“I’m unsure of how to feel about that.” Arthur took control of their stroll and led Eames in the direction of where he lived. He sniffed at the bouquet as they walked. “Should I feel proud of the fact that I’m not an open book to you?” he asked.

“Mystery is always a wonderful quality to have. The ability to surprise people should be highly regarded.” Eames considered something for a few seconds before he spoke again. “However, I must say, Arthur, that you seem like an awfully stable person.”

"Do you mean to say I'm boring?"

"After I just said that you possess a sense of mystery? Hardly, Arthur. You mustn't be so defensive. I find your stability to be another wonderful quality. There is a safety in sureness, and even a fool like me appreciates it. In fact, I suppose in a way, I envy it.”

Eames let out a short whistle, and the sound distracted Arthur from lingering too long on the former’s words. He noticed that they were nearing his home and slowed down slightly, and when he looked over at his companion, Eames’ eyes had gone elsewhere and were now carefully observing the houses beside Arthur’s.

Arthur stopped when they had reached his house, and Eames walked past him for a few seconds before he realized that Arthur wasn’t walking alongside him. Instead of saying anything to explain himself, Arthur plucked a flower out of his bouquet and handed over the daisy to Eames. Although he gave Arthur an unsure look, Eames accepted the flower and toyed with its stem. “What is this for?”

“It’s a bit tattered compared to the others in the bouquet,” Arthur said by way of explanation. “I wouldn’t want to give it to my friend. You can keep it.” Eames stared at him, his confusion shining through and making him look oddly a little younger than he was, and Arthur enjoyed seeing the brief flashes of someone beneath the charming exterior that Eames constantly had on.

“A flower.”

“Yes, a flower,” Arthur repeated. He let his words sink in, and even though they hardly carried much meaning, it seemed like Eames was thinking about something or the other. “It’s time for me to go now.” He gestured to his front door. “Don’t linger out here too long.”

Eames tilted his head. “You won’t invite me inside? I find that quite rude, Arthur.”

“Perhaps another time.”

“I’ll hold you to that, then. The way I see it, you’ve just made a promise.” Eames chuckled despite the unpleased look on Arthur’s face and pushed on. “You’re an honest and honorable man. I trust you won’t go back on your word.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “When did I become honest and honorable?”

Eames simply smiled. “Well, one of us has to be.”

\--

“You look like you’re in trouble.”

  
The voice startled Arthur, and when he turned to see who had spoken, Eames bent over in order to get a look at his cards. Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Eames grinned. “Did you bet any money on this hand, Arthur?”

“Not much,” Arthur replied. He glanced down at his cards again and debated quitting. There was no chance he was going to win with the hand he had now. One of Eames’s hands rested upon his shoulder, but Arthur said nothing about the gesture. He studied his cards one last time before he threw his cards to the center of the table. “I quit.”

Eames’ free hand collected his winnings, but before Arthur could say a word, he spoke. “It seems you did fair enough for yourself, Arthur. Care to buy me a drink?” Arthur glanced at the hand that was clasping his money before he looked at Eames.

“Do I even have a choice?”

“Of course you do. It’s a matter of making the better one.”

Arthur got up from his chair and looked away from Eames in order to avoid seeing what would surely be a victorious smirk. “Fine.” He walked towards the bar, and when they reached the counter, Eames ordered drinks for the two of them before he turned to look at Arthur.

“I didn’t think I would find you here,” Eames said casually as his eyes raked over Arthur’s body before finally settling on his face. Arthur raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so Eames continued speaking. “Do you usually come to these kinds of places?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Eames’ lips curled into an amused smile at the way Arthur had poorly attempted to avoid his question. “Well, we’re definitely not at church, darling.” He picked up the glass that the bartender had set down for the two of them and raised it up as if to make a toast to Arthur. “Will we celebrate?”

“Celebrate what?” Arthur asked. Despite the reluctance in his voice, however, he still clinked his glass against Eames’ before quickly taking a sip and looking away. He observed the other patrons of the establishment, all of them far too occupied with what they were doing. It was typical behavior of the people who came here to mind their own business. As soon as he gave up on his observations, Arthur turned his attention back to Eames. “I wasn’t aware there was a special occasion.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Is it?” He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look much older.” Arthur’s lips curved into a small smile, and he supposed it was the alcohol he’d had throughout the course of the night that was making him a little more welcoming than usual. “How old are you now?”

Eames chuckled. “I’d rather not say.”

“How dishonest.”

“It hurts me to know that you constantly doubt my character.” Eames turned his body towards Arthur, his hand running along the wooden counter so it was only an inch or so away from Arthur’s own hand. There was a loud clatter from the other end of the room, but laughs soon followed it, so neither of them bothered to look away from one another. “Are you here alone?”

“Does that matter?” Arthur asked, his mind running with the numerous possibilities that could follow his response. He licked his lips self-consciously and averted his gaze, his eyes lingering on Eames’ hand instead of his face. “I think most people who come here are without company.” He raised his eyes to look at Eames, and with every passing second, his desire to reach out and touch the other man felt a little stronger.

Eames looked amused by him, as if he was a particularly entertaining animal at the zoo, but as much as Arthur wanted to escape the feeling of scrutiny, he liked the attention as well. He looked down and watched as Eames’ hand moved and slowly grasped at Arthur’s wrist, his hold light enough so that if Arthur wanted to pull away, he could do so without any issue.

Arthur didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his eyes back to the table he’d left. “Are you good at card games?” he asked, hoping the question could serve as a distraction.

“I think I’m quite good at them. Are you?” Eames replied, his tone soft and surprisingly gentle. Arthur gave him a half-hearted shrug. He didn’t quite feel like admitting he was for the most part, terrible at them. Eames chuckled softly and squeezed at his wrist gently. “Aren’t you good at card tricks?”

Arthur scoffed. “I’m not a cheat.” Before Eames could add in anything, Arthur returned the question with a challenge in his voice. “Are you?”

“Oh, I’m good with my hands.” Eames smirked and pulled out a coin from behind Arthur’s ear with his free hand. Arthur pursed his lips, but Eames didn’t stop. Instead, he waved the coin in front of Arthur’s face slowly and leaned in closer, his face only mere centimeters away from Arthur’s. “You’ve got to pay attention darling. You’re getting slow.”

They stared at each other, but it seemed like neither of them were prepared to make another move - not now, and not in this room. Eames broke away first and quickly placed distance between them. Despite all that however, his hand was still holding onto Arthur’s wrist.

“You look like you could use another drink.” Arthur suggested as he pulled his wrist away from Eames’ grasp and drew back his attention.

Eames’ casual expression didn’t falter, and nothing gave away a reaction to what Arthur had just done. “Are you planning to get me drunk, Arthur?”

“Well I find that alcohol helps dull the pain of reality and helps liven up the dullness of it too,” Arthur replied as he signaled for the bartender to bring them over a bottle of scotch. “Rather than thinking of this as my way of encouraging you off the path of sobriety, I am truly just in desperate need of more to drink.” He filled his glass and tilted the bottle towards Eames. “So, will you be staying here for your birthday? Do you have no other friends?”

“None as interesting or attractive as you, Arthur,” Eames answered.

“You ought to be careful with your words,” Arthur said simply as he refused to let the compliment fully sink in. He was right, after all. Although they were relatively safe in the confines of this secluded establishment, being open with such attractions was always a risk. He noticed Eames watching him and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Do you feel like leaving?”

It was a simple question, but one that was heavy with meaning. Arthur studied Eames carefully. To say yes would be a risk. To say no would be a regret. Perhaps it was selfish and foolish of himself to allow Eames to come close to him, to steal his attention and affection, and to distract him from the reality of the world that they lived in. If anything, Arthur knew that he’d been hooked - a powerless spectator to Eames and his whims.

Arthur’s silence must’ve lingered for too long because Eames coughed awkwardly and looked away. It was a surprising gesture, so Arthur said nothing as Eames stumbled over his words. “I assume this is the part, then, where I–”

“Let me just settle the bill.”

Eames watched him quietly as he paid the bartender, and once everything was settled, Arthur followed Eames out of the secluded and hidden building. They said nothing to each other and maintained a respectable distance away from one another. Arthur led Eames’ to his home, and he continued to say nothing as he unlocked the front door and left it open so that Eames could follow him inside.

The sound of the door shutting was enough to compel Arthur to action. He closed the distance between them and grabbed at Eames so that he could push him back up against the door roughly. Eames smirked. “Are you looking for a bit of a thrill, darling?”

Before Arthur could reply, Eames quickly flipped them around and backed Arthur up against the door. He leaned in slowly and stopped when his nose ghosted against Arthur’s, their gazes heated and wanting. Arthur pressed his lips softly against Eames before he hastily pulled away.

Eames huffed at the gesture. “Do you assume me to be some boy who’ll be satisfied with such behavior?” Rather than trying to coax a verbal response out of Arthur, he closed the gap between them and settled for kissing Arthur once again instead. Eames raised one of his hands to clutch the back of Arthur’s head, his fingers curling into and ruining the previously styled manner of Arthur’s hair. Arthur’s hands gripped at his vest and pulled him closer, and Eames eagerly responded.

Arthur kissed him hard, open-mouthed, and wet, and Eames let out a gasp once he felt Arthur begin to grind against him. Arthur was glad they’d abandoned the stage of innocent exploration because he was very much enjoying the rough press of Eames’s body against his. Eames ran his hands over Arthur’s thighs and began to rut against him roughly. Arthur felt partially embarrassed by the breathy moans escaping his lips, but the embarrassment was quickly replaced by excitement as Eames dropped to his knees.

“Let me have you–”

There were suddenly three sharp knocks on the door, and they both froze. A few more knocks followed, and Eames let out a sigh and rested his forehead against Arthur’s thigh. “Do not answer it,” he pleaded, his hands working their way up and settling at Arthur’s pants. “Surely he’ll be far less pleasing than I–”

Arthur pushed Eames’ hands away reluctantly and pulled the other man up to his height. “You should go–”

“Out the front door?” Eames hissed back, irritation obvious on his handsome face. “Or would you rather me attempt to escape out of a window–”

Arthur kissed Eames impulsively to silence him before he drew away. “My bedroom - it’s down the hall.”

The person at the door continued to knock, but Eames was insistent and pulled Arthur away from the door. “Come to bed with me, Arthur.” He pulled Arthur’s body close to his. “Whoever is out there can wait until dawn.” Arthur shivered as Eames began to unbutton his clothes, but the knocking grew louder and he knew he had to answer the door. He pushed Eames away and pointed in the direction of his room.

“Bedroom.”

Eames sighed defeatedly and walked away without another word. Arthur watched him go before he tried to tidy himself up and look presentable. After a deep breath, he opened the door and was surprised to see Nash standing on his doorstep.

“What are you doing here?”

“Arthur, we need to talk.” Nash smelled strongly of alcohol and smoke, and Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Please, it’s important that we discuss things. Will you let me in?”

“What do you–”

Nash reached out and held onto Arthur’s coat. He pulled him in closer. “I have another offer for us. We can have a future!” He smiled excitedly even though Arthur was hardly watching him with a pleased expression. “If we only take a few tricks from Cobb, the Fischers would be glad to–”

“So, you would like to steal from Cobb?”

“Stealing is such a–”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re far too drunk to consider this properly, and I am far too impatient to consider dealing with this further. Good evening.” With a slight push, Nash tumbled back and gave Arthur more than enough room to shut the door on his face.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing out in front of the door before he finally gave up on his thoughts and made his way to his bedroom. Arthur opened the door, and he froze when he was greeted by the sight of a naked Eames lying on his bed. His eyes trailed lower, and Eames had clearly kept himself busy while waiting for Arthur.

When his eyes returned to Eames’ face, he was wearing a smug expression. Arthur shut the door behind him and tossed his coat aside.

“Shall we continue?”

\--

Arthur watched Eames sketch from his spot on the bed. Eames was hunched over his desk, and the sound of his pencil scraping against paper was the only noise coming from him. Arthur rolled over to his side and stretched out his other arm to search for some lingering warmth.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“A while,” Eames replied softly.

Arthur shut his eyes and pressed his face deeper into his pillow. He breathed in deeply and sighed before he opened his eyes again. Eames had become a regular visitor now, and Arthur was unsure of how many times they would meet each other in a day. He saw Eames more than he saw the Cobbs now, and it was only now, in moments like this, in which he felt the guilt of being away from people who were in need of his help.

“What time is it?” Arthur rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Perhaps I ought to visit the Cobbs. The last I saw them was the other day.” Eames didn’t say anything, so Arthur merely tilted his head to look at him. He was still drawing busily. “Eames?”

Eames put the pencil down. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing special,” he replied as he got up off his chair and returned to bed. He sat down beside Arthur, and Arthur looked up at him curiously. Eames leaned over him. “I’ll be leaving in a week or so. I’ve got business to attend to, and I’m unsure of when I’ll come back.”

Arthur was unsure of what to say. He didn’t know what Eames wanted from him, and to be honest, he didn’t know what he really wanted from Eames either. They studied each other carefully before Eames pulled away to glance back at the desk then at Arthur. “What would you like from France?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur mumbled softly as he looked away. He suddenly felt tired. Eames’ hand stroked his hair, and he raised his eyes to look at him. “You ought to go.”

“But I am,” Eames murmured. “Would you like something pretty and expensive?” Arthur rolled his eyes, and Eames chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to think about this carefully.” His eyes lingered on Arthur, and he smiled at the frown on Arthur’s face.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing in particular.”

They stayed together quietly for a few minutes before Eames got up and got dressed. The whole time, Arthur stayed in bed and watched him carefully. Once Eames was dressed, he came back to the bed, and Arthur kissed him in a manner that was surprisingly gentle and sweet. When he pulled away, Eames studied him carefully before he kissed him on the forehead and walked out of the room.

Arthur lingered in bed for a few minutes before he left the bed to look at what Eames had been drawing. He picked it up and examined it under the light. It was a sketch of him. Nothing fancy or exaggerated, just his face on a blank background. It was simple, but accurately drawn. Arthur breathed in deeply and sighed.

Eames always looked at him as if he was searching for something, and until now, Arthur didn’t know what it was.

\--

It was only a matter of time.

She was gone, and the fact that death was inevitable was the only little comfort he could hold onto. He couldn’t even remember his last words to her or the last time she’d truly laughed. All he could remember was the sight of her -- ill and sickly, and it was an injustice to the woman who’d lived and breathed with such a passion for life.

“Where’s Cobb?”

The sound of Nash’s voice pulled him sharply out of his thoughts, but Arthur didn’t bother to turn his head and look at the other man. “Mal died this morning,” he said flatly. He took another deep breath and added, “He’s currently making arrangements.”

Nash was silent, and Arthur shut his eyes. He didn’t need anyone with him. He’d handle his grief alone.

“Are you aware of what time he’ll return?”

“No.”

Silence fell between them, but Arthur quickly grew tired of hearing Nash pace around the room. He opened his eyes and fixed the other man with an irritated look. “What is it that you want?” he asked. “If you wish to see him, it’s best that you come back tomorrow.”

Nash went still. He licked his lips anxiously, and his eyes darted to the front door momentarily. “Have you considered the offer that I told you about?” Arthur stared him down, and Nash looked noticeably unsettled by it. He shuffled and looked away. “It doesn’t seem like he’ll ever be ready to…He won’t be the same Arthur. What I wanted to talk to you about the other night–”

“You can leave now.”

“Arthur–”

“Leave.”

Nash didn’t bother to put up another argument, and Arthur had nothing more to say. The door slammed shut behind him, and Arthur was alone once again. He took a deep breath, calmed himself and then headed for the Cobbs’ bedroom. The door had been left ajar, so he simply pushed it open and stepped inside. The room hadn’t changed since the events that had taken place in the morning. The wilted flowers in the vase by the bed remained, and the bed sheets were spilling onto the floor.

If it were any other day, Arthur would’ve easily cleaned the room on his own. But seeing remnants of Mal around the room –- her knit work, her jewelry, and her writings – he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would feel like he was lying to himself and to her memory if he were to simply fix everything and pretend like everything was in order when everything was really falling apart.

Instead of touching anything in the room, he settled for opening the window. He looked out briefly, his eyes lingering on clueless passersby. To most of them, this day would be like any other day, and for that, Arthur envied them.

He turned his attention back to the room and as he looked around, his eyes eventually settled upon the painting that was hung above the bed. Its colors were still as vibrant as they’d been on the day he’d first seen it, and it stood out amongst the dullness of the room. It didn’t belong.

Arthur slowly walked over to where it was placed and removed it off the wall. No one who came into the room anymore would be able to appreciate its beauty. It deserved to be placed elsewhere. With the painting in his arms, Arthur spared one last moment to linger in the room before he moved on.

\--

Eames was coming over to say goodbye. He’d written a letter, and Arthur had received it a day before. He just felt tired, and as much as he didn’t want to see him, Arthur knew he couldn’t refuse the visit. He couldn’t sleep at the Cobbs’ home any longer, and it hurt him to see things that reminded him of Mal. He didn’t need for Eames to leave either.

The door was unlocked for him, so Eames came in by himself. Arthur looked at him from where he was seated and offered a small smile.

“This is for you,” Eames said as he brought in a painting. He set it down on the table and smiled at Arthur. “I thought you would like it.” He didn’t sit and instead worked on unpacking it. “I would’ve preferred to have given you an original, but someone told me that this was one of my finest work, so I thought you deserved it.”

He pulled the packaging off, and Arthur looked down at the painting. “Whose is it?” he asked as he touched the canvas gently. The sun in the middle of the painting was striking, and Arthur felt awed by it.

“Monet’s work, as forged by me.” Eames pointed at a signature at the bottom right corner. “If you truly want to trick a person into thinking it’s an original, that shouldn’t be there. However, I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble, so I placed it there for you.”

“How thoughtful.” Arthur held it up. “Where should I place it?”

“Anywhere people can see it.”

Arthur shook his head at Eames, and Eames laughed. “Would you like to perform magic tricks where no one could see them?” he asked, and Arthur ignored him as he looked around his living room for a place to put it. “It is necessary that certain acts and things be seen by others, Arthur. There is no amusement or joy in living or hiding in a cave.”

“So you say,” Arthur replied. “However, I think I would enjoy the solitude at the moment.” He studied Eames’ painting and was amazed by the quality of his work. If Eames hadn’t told him that it was a fake, he would’ve assumed that it was the original. It was a skillful and beautiful trick, all done by hand, and Arthur recognized it for what it was - professional work.

Eames walked up to him, and set his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur looked back at him, and Eames leaned in to give him a soft kiss. He pulled away but kept his hand resting at the base of Arthur’s neck. “I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll never even realize I was gone.”

“I doubt you’re that skilled of an escape artist.”

Eames chuckled and took the painting out of Arthur’s hands so that he could set it onto the floor. Arthur stepped closer to him, and Eames drew him closer. Arthur settled in easily in his grasp, and he looked up at Eames to study him closely. It was only now that Arthur noticed how tired he looked.

“You’re not as great as you think you are,” Arthur murmured. Eames raised an eyebrow at the comment, but Arthur ignored him. “You can’t just run on luck.”

Eames chuckled softly at that. “Are you concerned?”

Arthur met his gaze. “No, I’m just being honest.”

“Oh Arthur,” Eames purred as he pulled Arthur closer and leaned in as if to kiss him again. Arthur moved his head away, and Eames laughed, amused as always. Arthur frowned at him, but Eames laughed it off and leaned in to try again.

“Don’t be stupid and get yourself into trouble.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Eames cut in, an earnest and teasing smile on his lips. “I’ve got a lot of tricks in my book.”

 

**Act Two**

It’d been a while since he’d last seen Mr. Saito. Ever since he’d deemed Cobb to be unfit to resume performing his illusions, he hadn’t heard from the businessman. He hadn’t even come to Mal’s funeral, and as much as Arthur did not want to meet him without good news, it had become necessary after hearing that Nash had successfully sold several of some of their unperformed tricks to the Fischers, Arthur knew that there was something that had to be done. He didn’t know how many tricks Nash knew of, and he wouldn’t allow Nash to keep stealing from them. He needed to put an end to it.

As much as he wished a violent altercation with the man would wrap things up, he knew it wouldn’t end quite as nicely if he were to handle matters on his own. If the Fischers were funding Nash, they’d be protecting him too. If Arthur wanted to truly silence Nash, he’d have to get Saito to back him on the matter. So he’d swallowed his pride and had sent him a letter. The reply had come back swiftly, and now Arthur was waiting for him to arrive.

Mr. Saito was usually a punctual man, so Arthur assumed that he was being late on purpose. He contemplated ordering another glass of wine when the other man finally appeared in front of him. He stood up and nodded politely in greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Saito.”

“I’ve told you to call me Saito,” the man said in response as he sat down. “So, will you be telling me upfront what this meeting is about, or shall I have to wait for further pleasantries before you divulge the truth?”

Arthur held his silence for a little longer and instead forced out a thin smile. “I think it’s best that we order first, don’t you?” He flagged down a nearby waiter and gave his order before directing the man’s attention over to Mr. Saito. As soon as the exchange was finished, Arthur took a sip of his nearly empty wineglass and cleared his throat.

“Have you been hearing news on Robert Fischer?”

“It seems he’s not as much of a failure of investment as everyone thought,” Saito said flatly. He clasped his hands together, and Arthur had a feeling he knew what the man would say next. “He’s becoming a sensation. He’s gone from pulling rabbits out of hats to being in possession of an Inexhaustible Bottle trick. Who knows what he’ll be able to perform next?”

Arthur swallowed hard. “So you know?”

Saito didn’t answer and chose instead to use his words to call a waiter to serve him a glass of wine. When he looked at Arthur again, his expression was enough to indicate that he knew more than he was letting on. However, instead of admitting anything, it seemed he enjoyed seeing Arthur grow more uneasy by the second, and Arthur hated it. He didn’t have the patience for these mind games.

“Well since you know, I’m sure you also realize that it’s necessary we put an end to it.” Arthur glanced briefly at a nearby table and watched as a man tried to impress his date by attempting to hide a flower in his jacket in order to surprise her. “Nash doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough to boost Fischer’s credibility. For sure Nash has yet to spill all of his secrets because his knowledge is limited. He’ll want to draw business out for as long as possible.”

“So what do you suggest?” Saito asked.

Arthur turned his eyes back to Saito. “We’ll need to silence Nash.”

“You’d like for me to handle this matter?” Saito chuckled and shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned Arthur, this was your mistake. You overlooked the possibility of disloyalty. I don't know what has distracted you, but I feel it is necessary that you handle this matter. I may provide you with assistance, but the silencing of Mr. Nash is your responsibility."

Arthur lowered his gaze and clenched a fist under the table. "I'm not some thug–"

“But you are not fooling me. I see beyond this front you have adopted with the Cobbs. There is no point in you trying to pretend that you are not capable of doing what I ask of you. I’ll provide you with some men for assistance in order to ensure that this ends here, but you will manage the situation.” Saito’s answer was enough, and Arthur had no desire to argue with him further. He buried his frustration and said nothing as they were served. Saito allowed Arthur to eat in peace, but after a few tense minutes, he finally spoke again.

“When will Mr. Cobb be fit for another performance?”

Arthur looked up from his plate. “He’s not fit to go back onstage.” He considered the sight of the drunk man he’d only seen earlier today and decided to emphasize his point. “He drinks constantly, and he’s a far cry from the man who used to be able to convince anyone of anything.”

Saito took his time to contemplate Arthur’s words before he came up with a response. “Yet you’re still here, working for me and protecting his cause.” He took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes scrutinizing Arthur carefully. “What do you have to gain from this loyalty?”

“It wouldn’t be right for me to leave.” Arthur’s chest tightened at the thought of the better times he’d shared with the Cobbs, and he shook his head. “I owe them far too much. I can’t leave with an unsettled debt. It is necessary that I at least try to do something to pay it back.”

“I see.”

Saito said nothing further and instead began to eat quietly. Arthur considered continuing what he had to say, but before he could get a word out, Saito interrupted him. “Let me see Mr. Cobb tomorrow. I shall speak to him.”

“I’ve already–”

“Let me handle it.”

Arthur fell silent. It was clear the businessman meant his words, and Arthur was in no position to even attempt to stop him. He signaled for a refill of his wine glass and looked away. It seemed as if the man at the table beside them had failed to keep his flower in proper condition. As he presented it to his partner, several of its petals had fallen off.

“You’ll have to come by early then, before he’s started drinking.”

“Understood then.” Saito stood up, and Arthur looked at him. “Stay here.” He ordered as he waved over some men who’d been sitting at a nearby table. “You can finish talking about Mr. Nash with the men who are coming. I assume you’ll be able to handle it?”

Arthur forced himself to nod.

“Good.” It seemed like the businessman had something else to say, so Arthur proceeded to continue to eat quietly while he waited for the other man to speak up. His assumption was correct because as soon as he’d motioned for a waiter to clear their table, Saito spoke again.

“I think it is necessary that I bring in another addition to your team. A pretty assistant serves as a perfect distraction onstage. If Mr. Cobb isn’t in top shape, she’ll be an important asset to cover that up. I’ll bring her with me tomorrow.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

“Not at all,” Saito replied as he signaled for the waiter to bring their bill as well. “I just thought you should know.”

\--

“When will you decide to talk to me?”

Arthur glanced at the girl, and she was observing him with an amused look on her face. He ignored her and looked away to study the door instead. Saito and Cobb had yet to come out, and it’d been nearly an hour since they’d started their private discussion. He sighed and stood up.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Yet you’ve made judgments about my character,” the girl commented. She turned slightly so as to keep her attention fully on him, but Arthur still kept his gaze elsewhere. “I am well aware that you would not like to work with me. Mr. Saito has made that clear, but that does not change that we will be working together.”

Arthur finally looked at her, and he was surprised to see her expression was still somewhat calm. He took a few steps closer and stopped when they were only several feet apart from one another. “Are you happy with this arrangement?” he asked with a careful tilt of his head. “Surely you have greater aspirations than serving as a coy little prop on stage. You carry yourself in a manner that tells me you’re an intelligent girl, and I’d like to know why you’re here when playing pretty seems to be beneath you.”

She shook her head in amusement, and it unsettled Arthur. “So you’re not aware of the full plan then?” she asked. When he furrowed her brows, she stood up from her chair and walked up to him. “Well, it seems not. Let me just assure you then, sir, that I am not going to just sit pretty for Mr. Cobb.”

“What–”

The door opened, and Saito was followed by an expressionless Cobb. However, rather than focusing on that, he directed his attention towards Saito. The man put on a small, triumphant smile, and it was enough for Arthur to know that their talk had gone in the businessman’s favor. He clasped Cobb’s shoulder. “We’ve organized the details, and have planned to see two more shows through. The first will be in a week from now, and the next shall be next month.”

“Next week?” Arthur gaped, and he looked at Cobb.

“Yes, next week,” Saito repeated. “I don’t expect to see an entirely new program, perhaps just a new act or two. It has been a while since your last show, so people will need to have their memories renewed of how Robert Fischer pales in comparison to Mr. Cobb.”

“You sound confident.” Cobb was still silent throughout the exchange, and Arthur wanted to know why. However, he would leave that matter alone for the moment and instead, he would keep his attention on Saito.

“I suppose I am,” the businessman replied. “I have seen you and Mr. Cobb at work, and I know you two hold a high regard for your craft. I don’t expect to be disappointed.” He gestured to his new addition, and she walked over nearer to him. “With the help of Ms. Ariadne, I expect an added improvement to your show. Is there anything else you need, Arthur?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, not at all.”

Saito picked up his hat off the table and gave them a curt nod. “I’ll see you all next week then at the show. Good luck on your preparations.” They all watched him leave, and when the door shut, it was as if they all let out a collective sigh.

Cobb turned to go to his room. “I need a drink.” Ariadne said something about needing to go to the bathroom, and they all departed before he could say anything, leaving Arthur alone in the room. He shut his eyes, and although he was the farthest thing from religious, uttered a prayer that everything would turn out alright.

\--

Eames had started sending him letters now. They were all rather vague, simple things, but Arthur reluctantly appreciated them anyway. The first couple had been poems, the next were a couple of sketches, and the letters he were sending now had actual content from him. There was nothing specific about when he was coming back, but the letters were composed of various observations of everything and anything, sexual comments, and occasional serious words on how he’d like to see him again. Despite all that however, Eames never told him to write back.

At this stage, Arthur had no clue what he would do with Eames once he came back.

He and Ariadne were getting along better as he walked her through the various acts that he and Cobb had performed through the years. She was a natural at understanding how things worked, and his observation that she was intelligent was clearly correct. There was only the matter of her knowing how to act on stage, but Arthur had a feeling she would pick up on that quickly as well.

It was only Cobb that was the problem at this point.

“Is he coming back tonight?” Ariadne asked as she brought over some of Arthur’s old notebooks. He glanced up at her and shrugged. He was as clueless as she was. Cobb refused to divulge where he’d go on his evening excursions, and Arthur was half-expecting the man would end up drunk and passed out in a gutter somewhere.

Arthur picked up one of the notebooks. “Have you any thoughts for his final stunt?” He flipped through his notes aimlessly and resisted the urge to throw the notebook down. “Surely you’ve seen a couple of magic shows in your time. Did you see anything amazing?”

Ariadne leaned back. “I saw Robert Fischer’s show last night. It was quite entertaining. However, he lacks a certain kind of charm,” she paused then quickly added, “I’d say he makes up for it in looks. He’s quite attractive. His eyes are magnificent.”

“Is that all you noticed?”

“I could talk about his other body parts if you like.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at her, and Ariadne chuckled. “In his better days, Cobb was hardly lacking in charm. He was overflowing with it. He could convince anyone to do anything if he wanted to,” Arthur muttered as he set the notebook down and reached for another.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Far from it,” Arthur answered as he got up to leave. “I see past those airs now.”

“So you’re immune to charm then?”

Arthur thought back to the letters he’d been keeping his room. They were carefully sealed away in his drawer, hidden from anyone else’s sight. Ariadne looked at him expectantly, and he gave her a quick no as an answer before he walked off.

\--

“It’s simple,” Cobb explained as he put the pistol into Ariadne’s small hand. He began to back away. “Just shoot me.” He smiled, and Arthur shook his head. “Ariadne just–”

Arthur strode over from his seat and pulled the gun from her hand. “We’re not doing this Cobb, we can find some other trick–”

Cobb grabbed the gun right back from him, and Arthur stilled. There was a dangerous flash in Cobb’s eyes as he gestured for Ariadne to take it back from him. “We can’t do another trick Arthur,” he said as he walked away to pick up a bullet off the nearby table. “We don’t have enough time to prepare anything else.”

“Who do you plan on assisting you then?” Arthur asked. His voice controlled. He refused to argue with Cobb in front of Ariadne. “I can’t be the one to fire the bullet at you.”

Cobb walked to position in front of Ariadne. “We’ll call someone from the audience.”

“Who?” Arthur pressed. “You could die if some fool who thinks he’s being funny puts something into the pistol, Cobb. He could put _anything_ into it and kill you.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. There’s no time to prep anyone. The show is in two days–”

“Do you not think I’m aware of that?” Arthur snapped. “If perhaps you’d told me sooner that you planned on pulling this off, we could’ve found the time to prep someone. Why don’t we just let Ariadne do it? No one is aware that she is about to become your assistant. Perhaps–”

Ariadne’s voice was small, but she capably cut into Arthur’s speech. “In order for the trick to have a greater effect, the audience needs to trust the person holding the gun. As much as you think I’m capable of doing so, Arthur, I think you and I both know that majority of the audience will think it cowardly to select anyone who lacks experience with a pistol.”

“Fischer lacks any stunts with real risks,” Cobb added in. He was notably more subdued now, but Arthur was only growing more frustrated with every word. He was looking at Arthur as if he were a child, as if he wasn’t aware of how much was on the line for the two of them. “IWe must go further than him. We need to do better.”

“You’re being a fool,” Arthur spat. “There are hundreds of people just willing to see you go down if it means more money for them. You’re playing yourself right into their hands. I wouldn’t be surprised if Maurice Fischer himself has bought out the entire theater for the evening!” He turned away, grabbed his coat off the table, and walked out of the room before anything more could be said.

\--

When he came back to the house, he noticed that Ariadne had clearly gone for the night. However, the light that came from the kitchen indicated that Cobb was still awake. Arthur walked silently into the room, and he was surprised to see that Cobb wasn’t drinking.

“You came back.” Cobb gestured for him to sit, but Arthur shook his head. “I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow morning at the earliest.” He stood and headed to the liquor cabinet, and Arthur observed him mutely. He would have to hold himself back until Cobb finished speaking. “I understand that I owe you more than an apology, Arthur, for how I’ve behaved...and I do apologize.”

Cobb took out a bottle of wine and followed that with two glasses. He returned to his spot on the table and filled each, making sure to push one forward for Arthur. “He promised to help bring my kids back if I finished these two shows. I need to see them again, Arthur.”

“You won’t be able to see them if you’re dead.”

“There’s no other option at this point. I need to be stronger. I need to prove that...I need to prove that I am better than they think. Mal’s parents have made it clear that they don’t trust me with my own children.” Cobb’s laugh was bitter, and Arthur felt pity for him, but it was buried underneath his own personal frustrations with the man. “I’m trying, Arthur, I’m trying. Just trust me.”

Arthur sighed. “You were a professional once. I’d like to see that man again. I know...you loved her, but there’s nothing either you or I can do for her now.” He looked away; he couldn’t bear the thought of staring into Cobb’s eyes at that moment. “All we can do now is attempt to carry on without her.”

“For the last show, I’d like to finish...what we had planned before she’d gotten sick,” Cobb spoke, and at that, Arthur raised his eyes. He knew exactly what Cobb was speaking about. “It’s a good trick, Arthur. It’ll fit the timeframe...we can accomplish it.”

“But Ariadne–”

“She’s a capable girl. She’s ambitious, and she’s smart.” Seeing the bitter twist of his lips, Arthur knew that Cobb was thinking of Mal. Cobb met Arthur’s gaze. “She can do it. I know she can. She’s got so much potential. It’s why Saito brought her to us in the first place.”

“It’s dangerous. Her life will be at risk. Can you handle that on your shoulders?” Arthur asked directly, his eyes never leaving Cobb’s. The other man went quiet, and Arthur exhaled tiredly. “We’ll discuss this again if things proceed successfully in the upcoming show...and Cobb, once these two shows are through, I can’t work with you any longer,” Arthur said slowly. “This is the end.”

Cobb nodded. “I understand.” He picked up his wineglass and raised it to Arthur. “To better times.” Arthur dipped his head in acknowledgement of the toast before he turned around and left. There was nothing more to say.

\--

“It’s a full show,” Ariadne commented as she walked up to him backstage. He didn’t reply to her, but she reached forward coolly and fixed his tie for him. “I’d like to say that you shouldn’t worry, but I would be a liar.” She stepped back from him, and he looked at her properly.

“Should I wish you luck?”

“I’d rather not need it,” Arthur replied. He gave her a small smile before he turned to face the stage. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “You best go now.” He heard her walk away, and when he could no longer hear her footsteps, he exited backstage.

The audience quieted immediately when they saw him, and each one of his footsteps resounded in the hall. All eyes were on him, and it was up to him to start the show. His eyes swept through the audience - dozens of unfamiliar faces all gathered and fully willing to be enthralled and tricked for their own delight. He took another deep breath, calmed himself, then spoke.

“Let us avoid the grand and flowery speeches that are meant to decorate performances such as these. Mr. Cobb and I make no claims of dark arts from the Orient, or revivals of mysteries from the great plains of Africa. Forget the claims of those around you, for there already is a deception that takes place too close for comfort, a deception that lies within the scene of your mind. Is this all a dream, or is it truly reality?”

The man smiled and swept his arm in a smooth gesture. “Tonight, let us test those boundaries. I present Cobb, the Illusionist.”

The applause was deafening, and Arthur quickly made his way back to his usual position behind the curtains. He watched as Cobb made his way to the center stage, and he surveyed the crowd, his eyes lingering briefly on members of the crowd. He cleared his throat, took off his gloves, and when he tossed them into the air, two crows flew out into the audience.

The show had finally begun.

\--

“May I request a participant from the audience?”

Arthur felt his heart beat anxiously in his chest, and he shut his eyes, hoping that Cobb’s decision would not be a mistake. He heard Cobb add to his question, specifying that he would need a military man. The audience tittered excitedly, but Arthur’s fear drowned out their engaged chatter.

“Ariadne, kindly escort the fine gentleman in the fourth row to the stage please.”

“May I ask for your name sir? What may I call you?”

“You can call me Mr. Hardy,” the man replied, and Arthur continued to breathe in an effort to calm himself. “And your line of work?” Cobb asked conversationally. That was Arthur’s cue to bring out the pistol, so he picked up the box that contained the pistols and headed out onstage. He kept his eyes low, and he presented a box to Ariadne, who quickly handed it over to Cobb.

“I’m an artist.”

“So you must be good with your hands then,” Cobb continued as he opened up the box and pulled out a pistol from inside. Arthur took the pistol from Cobb’s hands, displayed it to the audience, and handed it back. It was when he handed it back to Cobb that he recognized who the other man was.

It was Eames.

He stood frozen, and it was only when he felt Ariadne brush against him that he realized he was standing out of place. He quickly looked away and took a step back, but he kept his eyes fixed on Eames. Cobb handed the box to Ariadne then smiled as he approached Eames. “Can I assume that you’re a good shot as well, Mr. Hardy?”

“I’m as good a shot as any, Mr. Cobb,” Eames said with a smile, and if he had let on that he recognized Arthur, his expression did not show it. “Would you mind if I tried it out?”

“Go ahead.”

They’d prepared for that by keeping two pistols inside the box. He and Ariadne turned, and they quickly switched the gun loaded with blanks with a gun that was actually loaded. Ariadne took the loaded pistol and handed it to Eames while Arthur brought out a board, and he set it down a few meters away from where Eames and Cobb were standing. He stood beside it, and it was at that moment that Eames’ attention settled on him.

A quick smile flashed on his face, and Eames turned away quickly to laugh. “You might want to step a good couple of meters away darling, it’s been a while.” The audience echoed his laughter, and Eames flashed them the smile he often saved for when he was about to tell some kind of joke. Arthur didn’t smile back, but he stepped away anyway.

Not bothering to delay any further, Eames fired the pistol and the bullet landed just a little bit off the center of the board. The audience clapped for him, and he offered a little bow before he turned back to Cobb. “This is a fine pistol, Mr. Cobb. May I keep it if this trick goes awry?”

The illusionist laughed lightly. “If it would please you, Mr. Eames, go ahead. Now if you would please step a little closer to me so that we may proceed.”

Eames walked over, and Cobb held his hand out to signal for him to stop. Arthur walked over to take the pistol from him, and although their hands brushed in the movement of handing it over, neither of them said anything. He made a show of reloading the pistol, but in another swift exchange, he and Ariadne switched the guns once more.

“I only need one thing of you, Mr. Eames. This time, instead of firing at the board, I need for you to aim the bullet for me instead. Feel no fear of death–”

“I don’t fear death Mr. Cobb, I fear the possible reality of imprisonment.”

The audience laughed again, and Cobb shot Eames a small smile. “Trust me, Mr. Eames.”

Arthur walked up to Eames again, and Eames smiled at him. “Thank you,” he said slowly, his hand lingering a bit longer on Arthur’s before he pulled away. He faced Cobb, and Arthur walked back over to his place with Ariadne. She glanced at him, but he ignored her and kept his attention on the men in front of them.

“When you’re ready, Mr. Eames.”

Eames didn’t bother to hesitate for any longer and just fired the pistol. At the sound of the gunshot, the viewers let out a collective gasp. Cobb’s body dropped, and it was the sound of his body thudding against the wooden flooring that echoed throughout the hall.

In one smooth movement, Cobb raised his arm and presented the bullet to the audience. The tense silence of the room was promptly broken by the sound of the viewers’ resounding applause and cheers. He stood up to bow, and the cheers grew only louder and louder.

Instead of standing by Cobb, Arthur quickly made his way over to Eames. He moved to usher him off stage, but as they went down, with the standing crowd that were beginning to get rowdy from excitement, it took only one moment of inattention that made him lose Eames in the crowd. When he took a step back and tried to find him, he was gone.

\--

It was a small victory in the grand scale of things, but a victory nonetheless. They celebrated in the night, and when all things were over, Arthur allowed for Ariadne to go home with him in the night. She was clearly drunk, her cheeks red, and her speech slurred. There was no way he would allow for her to return home alone.

He carried her carefully and brought her inside his home. She mumbled a few words regarding him, but they were muffled by his coat. He set her down on a chair and left her to fetch a glass of water that would hopefully assist her in recovering her sobriety. Just as he’d set foot in the kitchen, he heard a loud clatter, and he instantly abandoned the glass in order to check on Ariadne.

When he found her, a box had fallen, and she was staring in front of Eames’ painting.

“How beautiful,” Ariadne said slowly, her words full of awe. “It’s a Monet.”

Arthur walked towards her, amused by the fact that in her drunken state, she was still able to recognize the work of art. Clearly she was even more knowledgeable than he’d assumed. When he was beside her, he held onto her arm to steady her. “It’s just a–”

It was at that moment that Arthur realized that something was different. He studied the painting almost on a daily basis, and just looking at it, he knew something was amiss. The painting was in the same frame, but Eames’ signature -- it was gone. He took a step back and tried to look for some other hints that Eames had told him about art forgeries, but none of them were present.

“Is it real?” Ariadne mused as she leaned against Arthur’s arm and held onto him a little tighter.

“Yes,” Arthur breathed out, his eyes staring at the painting in shock. “Yes it is.”

 

**Act Three**

“Where is it?”

Arthur didn’t look away from his rope in order to know what she was talking about. However, he refused to engage her on the matter. As much as possible, he wanted Ariadne to think that she’d been mistaken. He didn’t even know what he would do with the painting aside from take it down.

“Your painting,” Ariadne continued when he didn’t reply. She took a seat beside him on the sofa, “I thought I saw it the other night. I wished to get a better look at it, but–”

“I’ve put it into storage,” Arthur lied. He stop fiddling with the rope and glanced at her. “I was worried that you would spill more wine onto it.” Ariadne let out a gasp, and he quickly stood up. “But it’s no matter. I’ve asked a friend regarding its possible maintenance, and he informed me that he would look into it.”

“Arthur, I am so sorry. It would be best that I pay–”

His front door opened, and Arthur was glad for the interruption. He glanced at the door, and Cobb entered, followed by Saito. He walked up to meet them but paused when he realized that they hadn’t brought the items that he’d been expecting. Just as he was about to voice his concern, Saito gestured for him to sit again.

“Mr. Cobb has briefed me, and I thought it best for us to start as soon as possible,” he explained, but Arthur glanced at Cobb to look at his reaction. They’d only discussed the act with Ariadne the day previously, and although she’d given her consent, Arthur was unsure of where the conversation with Saito was going. “You will need an extra man to accomplish this task, yes?”

Arthur nodded slowly, and Saito continued to speak. “I’ve asked a friend to help, and he has agreed. As much as I value your skills, Arthur, I cannot afford to let us waste time in searching for someone trustworthy to do the task of tying up Ariadne for such a dangerous feat.”

“Who is this friend of yours, then?” Arthur asked. “How will the rest of us be assured that he’s trustworthy?”

“Ariadne is already acquainted with him, and I believe that all of you met him on Friday night.” Saito stood up, and he walked away to open the front door. Arthur stood up to greet the guest, and when he saw Eames walk through the door, he said nothing. Eames smiled at him.

“It’s nice to see you again, Arthur.”

\--

It'd been fairly easy enough to just look away and to ignore Eames completely. He'd paid as much attention to Ariadne as possible and had been careful in accurately detailing all of the risks that would come along with what they were planning. Mal would've had months to practice, all Ariadne had was a couple of weeks. It was important that she knew what she was getting into.

And as Eames walked Ariadne to the door, whispering something into her ear that made her laugh, Arthur wished he'd known from the start what he'd been getting into with Eames. The door shut quietly, but it was the turning of the lock and its setting into place that caught Arthur's attention. He looked up, and Eames was standing only a short distance away.

"Is it the real thing?" Arthur asked.

"You didn't like it, I can tell," Eames replied, ignoring Arthur's question entirely. He walked in the direction of where the painting had once hung and glanced at Arthur. "If I told you that it was the original, what would you do then?"

If he were any rational and normal person, it was highly likely that he would call the authorities. Yet he wasn’t an everyday man. He’d seen things and had done things that not many knew of, and as a man with his own fair share of crimes, Arthur knew the matter wasn’t so black and white. Rather than lying, Arthur took the opportunity and decided that now was the time for him to ignore the question. He shook his head and got up to leave the room but stopped when he reached the doorway. He placed his hand on the wooden frame and glanced back at Eames, who hadn’t moved from his spot.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

“I told you, Arthur,” Eames replied, his posture relaxing as he spoke. “I’m good with my hands.” He took the several steps required in order to bridge their distance but made no move to touch Arthur. “I’ll return it when this is all over. Until then, feel free to keep it.”

“I don’t want it here. It’s beautiful, Eames, but…”

“Consider it done, then.” Eames broke their eye contact to look elsewhere momentarily. When he looked at Arthur again, his gaze was much softer than it’d been seconds prior. “Did you enjoy my letters?” he asked, and Arthur nodded. His honesty was rewarded with one of Eames’ smiles, and at the sight of it, Arthur felt all the more lost with what to do with him.

“You work for Saito.” Eames nodded, and so Arthur continued. “For how long?” he asked. “Did you know about Cobb and I, or were you just–”

“Do you trust me, Arthur?”

Arthur wished he could do so fully, but instead, he said nothing.

“Talk to me properly once you’ve changed your mind on me,” Eames said finally, breaking the tense silence in the room. “I’ll tell you everything you wish to know and more.” He drew closer to Arthur and cupped his face gently. “I’m happy to see you, Arthur.”

He leaned forward, and Arthur’s eyes impulsively fluttered shut. When the soft press of Eames’ lips never came, he opened his eyes to find Eames looking at him.

“Have you changed your mind?” Eames asked.

“I…” Arthur stepped back from Eames to look at him properly. His scruffy beard from the previous show was gone and much neater now, and Arthur resisted the urge to move closer to him. As if sensing his apprehension, Eames closed the distance between them to kiss Arthur gently.

When he pulled away, Arthur pulled him back in for an embrace and said nothing more for the rest of the evening they spent together.

\--

Ariadne was having a difficult time escaping the knots. They’d spent the whole day practicing with her without putting her into water, yet she couldn’t slip past them. At first, Arthur had been the one attempting the knots in order to demonstrate the act to Eames, but after several knots that ended up being far too complicated, Eames had laughed him off and taken over.

“We mustn’t make it too loose,” Eames explained as he knotted the rope again. Arthur watched his hands work the rope, and he was surprisingly quick at it. “However,” he murmured as he finished it off, “we cannot afford to make it too tight either.” He stared at his work before smiling at Ariadne. “Try that?”

Arthur started his stopwatch, and they both watched as Ariadne hurried to slip through the rope. Just as Arthur was about to glance down to check the time, the ropes fell to the ground, and Ariadne raised her hands triumphantly. She was beaming brightly, and Eames clapped his hands approvingly. They turned to Arthur, and he looked at the stopwatch.

“It’ll do for now.”

Ariadne pursed her lips while Eames laughed. “I don’t find that to be an acceptable form of congratulations,” she huffed as she kicked off the ropes at her feet. “Would a smile be painful for you to attempt?”

“Oh pet, don’t be angry with Arthur,” Eames said as he reached for Ariadne and tugged her back. He kept his arm over her shoulders and kissed her hair. “I’ll be happy enough for the two of us.” She pouted at him, and Arthur rolled his eyes at her.

“As much as it pains me to say it however, Arthur is right. It’ll only get more difficult once you’re in the water. You’ll have to keep your breathing steady, and you can’t rush it.”

“If you–”

“Arthur, trust me,” Ariadne interrupted, the smile gone from her face. “I can do it.” She picked up the ropes off the floor and handed them back to Eames. “I just need more practice.”

\--

“I find it highly ironic how you refuse to say that you trust me,” Eames murmured. “Yet you allow me to come into your bedroom, undress you, and take you to bed.” He gave Arthur an expectant look, and instead of saying anything, Arthur hushed him with a kiss.

When he drew away, Eames chuckled and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked. He watched as Eames walked over to their pile of clothes, fished something out, then returned to bed. Eames sat down beside him, and he gave Arthur a serious look. Arthur glanced at the tie in his hand then back at him. “Are you planning to–”

Eames almost looked shy. “If you’d like to, we could try.”

Arthur stared at him, contemplating it. He took the tie from Eames’ hands and set it onto the nightstand. “We’ll see. Maybe later.”

“Later is always fun,” Eames said with a smile as made his way back over Arthur. Arthur was willing and pliant in his hands, and Eames rewarded him by leaving kisses over his skin. Eames’ hands trailed up over Arthur’s body, and he pinned Arthur’s arms over his head. His callused hands carefully gripped Arthur’s wrists, and he slowly began to rut against Arthur.

Arthur tilted his head back, and Eames eagerly kissed the bare expanse of skin, his teeth grazing over it roughly, and the thought of Eames leaving marks on his skin only made Arthur more eager for more. “Eames–”

There was a knock at the door, and Arthur shut his eyes in annoyance. Eames chuckled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Perhaps we could pretend that you’ve fallen asleep,” he murmured, his breath warm against Arthur’s skin. “I did say that you looked very tired today.”

“I was fixing the lock on the tank–”

Another series of knocks followed.

“Cover yourself up,” Arthur murmured as he pushed Eames aside. Eames laughed but obeyed Arthur anyway. When Arthur looked at him, the blankets were drawn up to his chin, and hardly any of the tattoos on his skin could be seen.

“As much as I appreciate your nakedness, I think it best that you put something on.”

“Be quiet,” Arthur hissed as the person at the door knocked again. He quickly threw on a pants and a shirt, and although he knew he hardly looked appropriate, it was the best he could do. When he glanced at Eames, the other man merely smirked.

“Well Arthur, the only other person in the house is Ariadne, and she’s already aware of my preferences.”

Arthur shook his head at him before he opened the door. Eames was right, and it was Ariadne who was standing at the door, a tired expression on her face. “What is it?” Arthur asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I assume Eames is with you?” she asked, and before Arthur could reply, she walked into the room. She tossed an envelope at the man, and she ducked her head apologetically at Arthur before quickly leaving. The whole interaction had hardly even lasted five minutes, and Arthur stood at the door confused.

When he glanced at Eames, the other man beckoned him back to bed. Arthur quietly shut the door and walked back to sit beside Eames. “What is it?”

“I assume it’s Saito,” Eames murmured as he opened the envelope. He looked at the folded paper inside and turned away from Arthur so that he could set it onto the nightstand. “It can wait until the morning.”

“How long have you been working with him?”

Eames looked at him, “Long enough. Longer than you, I assume, but I believe that he does prefer you over me. ” He cupped Arthur’s face and kissed his forehead, “If you’re worried, I assure you that you shouldn’t be.” He leaned against the headboard, and Arthur shifted so that he was sitting beside Eames on the bed.

“The painting was meant to be a joke. I thought you would find it amusing.”

Arthur licked his lips. He was unsure of where Eames was going with this conversation. “Well it wasn’t. What would I do with it?”

“Appreciate it?” Eames chuckled. “I made it clear from the start that I wasn’t a perfect gentleman, but you didn’t ask any further questions, and I decided to play along with you. I don’t mean to blame you for anything, but I want you to know that I’ve never had any ill intentions towards you.” He was looking at Arthur now, but Arthur kept his gaze away. He fell quiet before he finally said, “I’ll return the painting to where it should be once I’ve finished with it.”

When Arthur finally looked at Eames, he was looking elsewhere. “I think you’ve judged my character wrongly. You said I was honest and honorable, but I’m not so sure I fit those qualities perfectly.” Eames looked at him, and Arthur continued to speak. “I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, and I know that I’ve played the fool on purpose with you, but...in short, I just need you to know that I trust you.”

Eames smiled. “You’re quite unintentionally charming, Arthur.”

Arthur shut his eyes and tilted his head away. “Please leave the room. I’ve had enough of you for the evening. Perhaps you may sleep in Ariadne’s room or outside.”

Eames laughed and pulled at Arthur, his hands quickly working in order to tug at Arthur’s shirt, “Use your words for a little longer, Arthur. What else would you like to tell me?” He pinned Arthur down against the bed to prevent him from leaving, and Arthur reluctantly looked up at him.

The look on Eames’ face was far too smug. Arthur didn’t want to tell him anything.

“Just one word,” Eames repeated. “One word.”

Arthur pulled Eames close, and Eames rested his forehead against Arthur’s. “Stay.”

\--

“So this is it.”

Arthur nodded and walked over to give Cobb his coat. “Ariadne seems ready.” Cobb nodded, and Arthur helped him put his coat on.

“She’s young and full of confidence.” Her underlying similarity to Mal was hinted at, and Arthur didn’t say anything further. He took a step back from Arthur. “Thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was a knock on the door, and they both turned their heads as it was opened. Ariadne smiled at the two of them. “It’s time.”

Cobb nodded, and he clasped Arthur’s shoulder tightly before he walked past Ariadne and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Ariadne walked up to Arthur. She began to fix Arthur’s tie, and Arthur watched her do it quietly. When she finished, she took a step back.

“Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Ariadne replied, a small smile on her face. “Shall we go?”

\--

“Any gentlemen out there who’d be willing to help a young lady out?”

Arthur held onto his axe and glanced at his stopwatch. He watched as Eames was brought up onstage, and he gripped it a little tighter. Eames went through tying Ariadne’s hands and ankles quickly, and he made a show of tightening the knots before he stepped back. Ariadne smiled at Arthur briefly before she faced the audience again and raised up her bound hands.

She was raised up by the hook and then dropped into the water. The curtains immediately closed around the tank, and Arthur watched his stopwatch carefully. Everything was at risk here. Their reputations, and even more importantly, Ariadne’s life.

It seemed as if everything had begun to move at a snail-like pace. Cobb slowly circled the tank, and when he raised his hand, the curtains dropped to reveal a soaked Ariadne standing outside of the tank.

The applause that followed was thunderous.

\--

A day after their final show, Arthur went into his storage room to discover that the original Monet had disappeared. When he went into his living room, the forged work was in its place on the wall. Along with it, Eames had also left once again. Ariadne continued to visit him, and Arthur even entertained visits from Cobb and his children.

Just as Arthur was organizing several of his notes from throughout the years, his doorbell rang. When he opened the door, he wasn’t even surprised at the least to see who was standing in front of him.

“I hear you’re looking for employment.”

Arthur shook his head in disbelief, but Eames continued. “If you’re interested, I’ve got an offer for you. Mr. Saito recommends you highly, but he has also warned me that you’ve got a violent side as well.” He paused. “I can attest to that violent side, but let me also add that you are also incredibly charming although you don’t mean to be.”

Arthur leaned against the doorframe. “Continue.”

“May I come inside?”

“No. I don’t invite strange men into my home. It’s not something that I believe is smart to do.”

Eames chuckled but pressed on. “This job I’m offering comes with its fair share of risks, and I’ve almost lost my hand on occasion. My hands,” he held them out, and Arthur had to resist a smile. “If I lose my hands should something go wrong, I’d very much like for you to provide for me. I’ll be no use to anyone, even myself, without them.” 

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Arthur replied. “What are you really asking of me?”

“I’m asking for you to be my partner. I would like to work with you, Arthur....among other things.”

“Your partner,” Arthur repeated. He met Eames’ eyes. “I would believe that a job such as that requires quite a large amount of trust.”

“You’d be correct in assuming that, yes.”

Arthur smiled and held his hand out. “Consider it a done deal then Mr. Eames.” 


End file.
